


Hands

by Takada_Saiko



Series: Fallen [19]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Bobo X Willa, F/M, Pre-Series, the treehouse years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 11:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takada_Saiko/pseuds/Takada_Saiko
Summary: Willa knows those hands well. Fic prompt #91: Can I hold your hand?





	Hands

**Hands**

When she had been young she had been terrified of those hands. They had grabbed onto her by the collar of her nightgown and hauled her away roughly, their owner giving assurances to the ones that had dragged her out of her home that the Heir's oldest daughter would never live to be the Heir herself. She had fought, not calling out for fear that he'd make good on the first one's threat - she could still hear his voice, even today, threatening to go back after her sisters - and clawed at the hand that hold of her. She'd pulled at his rings, at the bracelets he wore. She'd even gotten a couple off in her fight before he'd shook her hard, growling at her to stop and the flash of red eyes pushed her to obey.

He had pulled her into the thicket, one of those hands moving over her mouth, and she had heard that deep, gravelly voice that she had come to know so well since then. "If you want to live, scream once when I uncover your mouth and then don't make another sound until I say. Got it?" He had waited until she nodded and he caught her gaze. Even in the dark she could see how his eyes had shifted back to their natural blue, and there was something desperate in them. "Make it count."

Willa had screamed, the sound echoing across the Ghost River Triangle. It was chilling, but as soon as she had used up her breath for it she had snapped her mouth shut and those hands had dragged her elsewhere without any further explanation, one always with a death grip on her shoulder like his threats of death weren't enough. There were things worse than death, she supposed.

He had stored her away in the place she now called her home over a decade later and she had come to know those hands well. They were the ones that had held her shoulders so that she had to look at him as he told her she couldn't leave, that the others thought she was dead and if she didn't want to end up like her dear old daddy, she'd do exactly as he said. They were the ones that had run nervously through the stretch of dark hair on the top of his head to smooth it down when he needed to buy time to think about his answer to a question she'd asked, and the ones that still danced when he talked so much of the time. They'd carried food for her, clothes, and books. Presents of all sorts over the years she'd been there. She had put a knife through one, very early on, in an attempt to escape, and she had seen that Revenants bled differently than humans that day, but they did in fact bleed.

She knew every mark on those hands, Willa realized as she found herself looking at them now in the early morning light. Every freckle, every scar. He had one that ran along his left thumb where he said he'd clumsily cut it with a knife, trying to sharpen a pencil long before he'd been cursed. His left hand was the dominant of the two, but in his day people were expected to adjust to fit what was considered normal. He wrote with his left hand though, but he said he shot with his right. Not that she'd ever seen him even hold a gun. He had other forms of defense should they ever need it.

He did love his rings. They rarely changed, though he'd added one over the years. A very thin ring he wore on his left pointer finger that Willa had managed to fashion herself. A bracelet or two were from her as well now, mixed in with the others and hardly different enough to draw attention, but she knew, and in her own way it was something she could send with him until she could go as well.

It had been many years since Willa had been afraid of those hands. It was almost funny to think about now as she watched those fingers twitch lightly against his pillow, some dream or another causing him to stir. He'd never hurt her with them. Even when she had lashed out he did only as much as was needed to protect himself. There had been days early on when she'd waited for him to come, to bring her food or anything she might have asked for, and she would try to get the jump on him. Her daddy had taught her how to fight Revenants, but she wasn't sure what to do with one that gave little fight back. He never left a mark on her, though she'd left a few on him.

It was different now. She knew him. He wasn't the monster her father had described. He was gruff and irritable, but he was also gentle and thoughtful. He had been her protector, her savior, and eventually she had convinced him it wasn't going to destroy either of them if he loved her as well.

Her lips curled up at the corners as he turned and she saw his eyelids fluttering against the dream. She reached up, her own hand creeping towards his to wake him gently. "Robert," she whispered, and while he pushed a sharp breath out through his nose he didn't wake. Her smile tilted back down as she watched his fingers take hold of the pillowcase and latch on. A nightmare then.

Willa was careful as her fingers touched his tense fist and she called his name again. "Robert, it's just a dream."

Blue eyes snapped open and he pulled in a breath, startled by her voice and whatever he'd been fighting. She laid there very still, waiting for him to gain his bearings.

After a long moment he cleared his throat. "'Mornin'," he greeted roughly.

"Just barely." Her finger was still tracing the side of his hand and he finally seemed to notice, forcing himself to release his grip on the pillowcase to accommodate the unspoken request. Willa's smaller hand slipped over his, fingers wrapped around to hold his hand. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "Did you win?"

He snorted a mirthless laugh. "Not yet," he answered and his voice was a little sad. She had had no idea when she'd first met him just how much he carried all alone. She couldn't take it from him, but she could help him bear it a little easier.

"You need to talk?"

Robert shook his head a little, burrowing down in his place with his cheek pressed against the pillow. His hand tightened around her fingers and he inched forward, kissing them, before settling back down and letting his eyes drift closed again. She watched him for a long moment before letting her own flutter closed as well, focused on his touch and hoping that neither of them would face their own personal demons if they claimed just a little more sleep.

* * *

 

Notes: I still haven't found the actual conversation and it may not have been recorded (someone did tweet about it though), but apparently at EarperConUK this year Michael made a comment that he chose to paint his pinky fingers as Bobo to show support for victims of child abuse and to show that Bobo never abused either of the girls. I feel like Bobo and Willa can be such a twisted story, but the writers (and actors) have done everything they can to show that, yes, it was twisted, but at least not in _that_ what, if nothing else. I really hope we get some more information on them in S3 to tell us how their relationship started and what went into that. The more I dive into it in fanfiction the more I want to know about it for canon.


End file.
